(no subject)
Who would you switch places with?
You don't have to always be right
Let me take some of the punches
For you tonight'>
Today, on the last day of my trip to Rome, I went to St. Peter's Basilica. I went at night, to lessen the chance of crowds. They say the Vatican is the world's smallest country. Certainly it is designed to mimic what humans believe the Kingdom of Heaven looks like. Open to everyone, it is nevertheless full of security cameras and armed guards.
I wondered what you would have to do to get thrown out of the Vatican.
I took the time to see all of the art, and ask questions of the curators. There are statues of pagan gods in addition to the images of Christianity. Strange, but understandable. In the gift shop, I purchased a t shirt, a mouse pad, a few books and a print of a painting of myself.
To think that all of this comes from the ideas of a few simple Jewish peasants!
I remember when most of this was grass.
Time: 64 C.E
Miriam moved quietly along the dark street. Smoke from the recent fire still burned in her nostrils, some parts of the city were still smoldering. The younger woman followed behind her, solemn faced beneath her black veil. There was already a small crowd gathering on the hill, familiar faces under dark hoods and headscarves.
Yon came and embraced Miriam, kissing her cheek.
"You look well," he said.
"I am,"Miriam nodded. She was older, but still healthy and hadn't lost much of her shape even though her hair was peppered with gray.
He turned and inclined his head toward Miriam's female companion.
"My Lady."
A few others had gathered around, kissing Miriam, inquiring over her health and greeting the other woman respectfully. One man gasped and took her hand to kiss it.
"Lady Sarah!"
The young lady uttered a surprised noise and froze, too polite to jerk her hand away but shocked that a strange man would be so forward.
"It's alright, "Miriam soothed. "He's a friend of mine."
Deep brown eyes in a thin brown face flickered nervously from Miriam to the small crowd of strangers.
"Where is the body?" Miriam asked. They showed her, walking a little way around to the other side of the hill. The guards were gone now, the cross had been removed, and some city workers were loading the body onto a pallet to be taken for burning if it wasn't collected.
"I'm here to claim the body," Miriam said loudly.
"And who are you? His wife?"
"His sister,"Miriam said. "These are his brothers. "
The men brought the body to a nearby house, belonging to a wealthy Christian and respectfully retreated to another room while Miriam and Sarah remained closed in with the body.
He was old, his hair had gone entirely white, but he was still big boned and heavy, Miriam was glad the men had been there to lift him for her.
"Open the jars, "Miriam said to Sarah. Sarah took several small ointment jars from a sack and arranged them on the marble slab. Pungent aromas filled the air as each spice was opened.
"This one is for preserving the body,"Miriam explained. "And this one is to mask the smell. This heat will enhance the smell of decay if we don't coat the body in this."
She began to wash his body with water; she was not embarrassed at seeing him like this. He was truly a brother. Sarah had never been married, but Miriam knew there would be plenty of deaths in her life, she might as well get used to seeing all of a man.
"Will we be unclean?" Sarah asked.
"Yes, but if we bathe immediately after, we shouldn't have to worry,"Miriam said. That wasn't strict adherence to the Laws, but there was no time for anything better.
"Mother, what are those?" Sarah examined a bloody gash on his palm. She turned a little green but held her composure admirably.
"They drove nails into his hands to pin him to the cross,"Miriam said. "You will see that there are two identical holes on his feet. "
"Why?"
"Because that's the Roman way. A punishment reserved for political insurgents and serious crimes."
"This is a criminal?" Sarah moved away from him.
"In the eyes of Rome,"Miriam said. "We're all criminals in their eyes. This man, he fought for freedom, he spoke out against injustice and he preached in the tradition of your father."
"He knew my father?" She joined Miriam in wiping him gently with soft cloths, following her mother's lead as they dipped the cloths in the jars of oil.
"He was one of your father's closest friends. One of his most devoted disciples. He asked to be crucified upside-down, not believing himself worthy to die like your father."
"My father was crucified?"
"Yes,"said Miriam, pausing for a moment. "I'll tell you about that later."
"What is this man's name?"
"It was Simon, called Peter, which means Rock."
Oh Peter. He was never malicious, never a hater of the Jews (he was one!). He never wanted this luxury. He wasn't good with women; he couldn't see why Yeshua had wanted women to preach. And he was quick to temper. Years later a church would be built over the spot where his friends buried him that night. A church with visitors numbering in the thousands each day.
And a man called the successor of Peter would live there, in the world's smallest country and issue proclamations that affected the lives of over a billion people worldwide. This man can be any Catholic male, but he is almost always a celibate priest who has played church politics until he reaches the rank of Cardinal, and has become an old man voted in by other old men.
Always the same unbending orthodox view. That's what rocks did. They stayed in one place, never moving, and rarely growing or changing. Rocks did not adapt. Inside the Basilica, the words "Upon this Rock, I Will Build My Kingdom" stretch across the wall.
What if it had not been Peter in Rome during that time, but James? Would Christianity lean more toward the Orthodox Jews? What if it had been Thomas or Phillip? Would Gnosticism have prevailed? What if…
What if it had been me, Mary Magdalene? Would the church be different or was the present version inevitable? Could I have taken Peter's place?
If they had just let me help. I loved them all, I would have died for them.
You don't have to always be right
Let me take some of the punches
For you tonight'>
Today, on the last day of my trip to Rome, I went to St. Peter's Basilica. I went at night, to lessen the chance of crowds. They say the Vatican is the world's smallest country. Certainly it is designed to mimic what humans believe the Kingdom of Heaven looks like. Open to everyone, it is nevertheless full of security cameras and armed guards.
I wondered what you would have to do to get thrown out of the Vatican.
I took the time to see all of the art, and ask questions of the curators. There are statues of pagan gods in addition to the images of Christianity. Strange, but understandable. In the gift shop, I purchased a t shirt, a mouse pad, a few books and a print of a painting of myself.
To think that all of this comes from the ideas of a few simple Jewish peasants!
I remember when most of this was grass.
Time: 64 C.E
Miriam moved quietly along the dark street. Smoke from the recent fire still burned in her nostrils, some parts of the city were still smoldering. The younger woman followed behind her, solemn faced beneath her black veil. There was already a small crowd gathering on the hill, familiar faces under dark hoods and headscarves.
Yon came and embraced Miriam, kissing her cheek.
"You look well," he said.
"I am,"Miriam nodded. She was older, but still healthy and hadn't lost much of her shape even though her hair was peppered with gray.
He turned and inclined his head toward Miriam's female companion.
"My Lady."
A few others had gathered around, kissing Miriam, inquiring over her health and greeting the other woman respectfully. One man gasped and took her hand to kiss it.
"Lady Sarah!"
The young lady uttered a surprised noise and froze, too polite to jerk her hand away but shocked that a strange man would be so forward.
"It's alright, "Miriam soothed. "He's a friend of mine."
Deep brown eyes in a thin brown face flickered nervously from Miriam to the small crowd of strangers.
"Where is the body?" Miriam asked. They showed her, walking a little way around to the other side of the hill. The guards were gone now, the cross had been removed, and some city workers were loading the body onto a pallet to be taken for burning if it wasn't collected.
"I'm here to claim the body," Miriam said loudly.
"And who are you? His wife?"
"His sister,"Miriam said. "These are his brothers. "
The men brought the body to a nearby house, belonging to a wealthy Christian and respectfully retreated to another room while Miriam and Sarah remained closed in with the body.
He was old, his hair had gone entirely white, but he was still big boned and heavy, Miriam was glad the men had been there to lift him for her.
"Open the jars, "Miriam said to Sarah. Sarah took several small ointment jars from a sack and arranged them on the marble slab. Pungent aromas filled the air as each spice was opened.
"This one is for preserving the body,"Miriam explained. "And this one is to mask the smell. This heat will enhance the smell of decay if we don't coat the body in this."
She began to wash his body with water; she was not embarrassed at seeing him like this. He was truly a brother. Sarah had never been married, but Miriam knew there would be plenty of deaths in her life, she might as well get used to seeing all of a man.
"Will we be unclean?" Sarah asked.
"Yes, but if we bathe immediately after, we shouldn't have to worry,"Miriam said. That wasn't strict adherence to the Laws, but there was no time for anything better.
"Mother, what are those?" Sarah examined a bloody gash on his palm. She turned a little green but held her composure admirably.
"They drove nails into his hands to pin him to the cross,"Miriam said. "You will see that there are two identical holes on his feet. "
"Why?"
"Because that's the Roman way. A punishment reserved for political insurgents and serious crimes."
"This is a criminal?" Sarah moved away from him.
"In the eyes of Rome,"Miriam said. "We're all criminals in their eyes. This man, he fought for freedom, he spoke out against injustice and he preached in the tradition of your father."
"He knew my father?" She joined Miriam in wiping him gently with soft cloths, following her mother's lead as they dipped the cloths in the jars of oil.
"He was one of your father's closest friends. One of his most devoted disciples. He asked to be crucified upside-down, not believing himself worthy to die like your father."
"My father was crucified?"
"Yes,"said Miriam, pausing for a moment. "I'll tell you about that later."
"What is this man's name?"
"It was Simon, called Peter, which means Rock."
Oh Peter. He was never malicious, never a hater of the Jews (he was one!). He never wanted this luxury. He wasn't good with women; he couldn't see why Yeshua had wanted women to preach. And he was quick to temper. Years later a church would be built over the spot where his friends buried him that night. A church with visitors numbering in the thousands each day.
And a man called the successor of Peter would live there, in the world's smallest country and issue proclamations that affected the lives of over a billion people worldwide. This man can be any Catholic male, but he is almost always a celibate priest who has played church politics until he reaches the rank of Cardinal, and has become an old man voted in by other old men.
Always the same unbending orthodox view. That's what rocks did. They stayed in one place, never moving, and rarely growing or changing. Rocks did not adapt. Inside the Basilica, the words "Upon this Rock, I Will Build My Kingdom" stretch across the wall.
What if it had not been Peter in Rome during that time, but James? Would Christianity lean more toward the Orthodox Jews? What if it had been Thomas or Phillip? Would Gnosticism have prevailed? What if…
What if it had been me, Mary Magdalene? Would the church be different or was the present version inevitable? Could I have taken Peter's place?
If they had just let me help. I loved them all, I would have died for them.